


Breathe

by Lux (intothemidnightblue)



Series: Ficlets [8]
Category: SMPLive, Video Blogging RPF, Wilbur Soot - Fandom
Genre: Ficlet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:21:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24029557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intothemidnightblue/pseuds/Lux
Summary: Wilbur breathed in, looking in the mirror.He breathed out, closing his eyes.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Series: Ficlets [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/792744
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> no beta i perish

Wilbur breathed in, looking in the mirror.

He breathed out, closing his eyes.

His hair was wet, his clothes were damp. The air was still moist from the shower.

He breathed in.

His reflection stared back from the microwave’s metal and plastic.

He breathed out.

Outside the air seemed cleaner. Fewer people will do that, but the lack of activity was still threatening. He looked up beyond the buildings, ignoring the glass and the man in the mirror.

He breathed in.

His computer screen was empty. He turned it on. He watched himself blink as the screen ran through its start-up. He smiled at the BIOS.

He breathed out.

His phone screen reflected back at him. He didn’t like the way he looked, alone. He looked like someone who was lonely. He threw his phone on the bed and closed his eyes, breathing in.

His dreams had him in a field of flowers, all purple and pink. They told him he would meet somebody here but all he could do was wait. He set roots down waiting, he grew old while waiting. When he eventually took a step in the right direction, the figure faded from view, the trick of the light had made him believe it was coming towards him, only to be leaving him once more.

He breathed out.

Waking up in the dark. He couldn’t move. The figure was in his room now, and it wasn’t pretty. He watched it envelop the room, climbing above him like a spider, circling its neck and tossing a knot of hair in his face.

He breathed in.

He breathed out.

He breathed in, and the feeling left. He was human again, within his body, no longer a frozen shell shocked carcass.

He breathed out.

The image in the microwave told a different story.

He breathed in,

Walking to the figure in the mirror.

He breathed out.

The face in the computer laughed at him.

He breathed in.

His phone had a crack in it.

He breathed out.

And screamed.

The dream figure was tall now, bending down in a movement that could take an eternity. It scooped him up, he felt the rush of the wind as he breathed in.

The dark invited him back to sleep, but nothing could shake him from the cage of the figure’s fingers. He gave up hoping for better dreams.

And breathed out.

Letting his body acclimate to living. No one said it would be this hard to get up in the morning. No one said the morning gives way to the afternoon with the speed a cat chases a mouse around the earth.

He breathed in.

The microwave beeped.

He breathed out.

Birds cawed warnings from the power lines.

He breathed in.

Discord notifications just made him sick nowadays.

He breathed out.

His phone rang.

He breathed in.

Every day he receives emails.

Every day he gets calls and notifications and sometimes when he’s most unlucky, the doorbell even rings.

He held his breath in the shower, water washing over him as all his sins escaped down the drain. His head emptied, and he felt the loneliness again, but it was punctuated by the steam’s comforting embrace. He turned the faucet cold and let it rip through his mind like a headache, all he wished he would forget. He let the water sting his body as he slowly shut it off.

Maybe he should drive, or take another walk. Maybe he should lay in bed and stare at the ceiling some more.

A thought pecked his brain but he ignored it. A bird of blood red, the thought was insistent. He went to sleep, breathing out.

The figure had set him in front of a castle. He stared up at his spires and walked through the shadowed doorway into the hallowed halls. Not a soul could be found, but whispers populated every corner. He walked the carpet up to the throne room and sat down, the seat conforming like his bed to his body. He rested his head on his hand, staring at the ornately decorated room, murals spinning stories of grandeur, the best times of his life peeling off with the paint.

He breathed in.

The shower stayed cold. He didn’t move. He couldn’t move. He felt the water grace the skin along his face.

He breathed out.

The microwave was closed a little too harshly.

He breathed in.

He sat at the bench staring at the glass.

The though pecking at his head, red birds in the mirror around his head like a halo.

_Why?_

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, I expel the work from my veins that's been burrowing to my brain.  
> This may be my last work here. I'm a fandom hopper tho, consider looking through my backlog on intothemidnightblue, a hop-skip away from this pseud.
> 
> obv nothing about this reflects back on the real Wilbur. 
> 
> lemme know what you thinque of it,,, what it makes you thinque about, too.


End file.
